


We're All Just Hunters Seeking Solid Ground

by kattahj



Series: Solid Ground [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (don't worry Roach is fine), Animal Death, Apologies, F/M, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: Jaskier unexpectedly encounters Geralt again, only to be faced with the possibility that he might lose him for good. It will take the efforts of all of Geralt's loved ones to stop that from happening.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Solid Ground [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762582
Comments: 49
Kudos: 398





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is both Geralt/Jaskier and Geralt/Yennefer, but because Jaskier is the POV character the former takes some precendence. It's meant for people who enjoy both pairings, though. I'm contemplating writing Yennefer's version as a companion piece, but haven't decided yet.  
> And yes, I'm yet another ficcer taking my title from "Orpheus" by Sara Bareilles.  
> Thanks to @a-hopeful-disaster @g-e-r-a-s-k-i-e-r and @actuallykelah for the beta!

There were many troubles with being a wandering bard. The alarming lack of funds, the food thrown at you (which could somewhat mitigate the lack of funds), the blisters, and the occasional bed bugs. But the _main_ trouble with being a wandering bard was that soldiers on horseback moved faster than troubadours on foot, and sometimes you found yourself in a warzone.

On the plus size, Jaskier doubted that anyone at the inn would be available to pester him for the bill.

He had honestly believed that Nilfgaard wouldn’t bother to venture this far into the mountains. How foolish of him to think like a normal person, instead of a fanatic bent on world domination.

The screams from the street never ceased, only varied in intensity. When he opened the window shutters, a burst of blue flame shot past and hit the wall, which caught fire. Judging by the colour, the fire was full of either chemicals, magic, or more likely, both.

Jaskier hastened to pack his few belongings, threw the lute onto his back, and left his room. There was a crowd gathering in the corridor, and he opted for the back stairs instead. Less sturdy, but nearer and quicker.

He was a floor and a half down before he encountered another person, and even then, he was in such a rush that it wasn’t until they were nearly shoulder to shoulder that the appearance of this person registered. Tall, bulky, leather, long white hair.

“Geralt?”

Geralt turned. “Jaskier! What are you doing here?”

“Trying to stay out of trouble. Failing. You?”

“Likewise.” Smoke was starting to curl in from the corridor above them. Geralt grabbed him. “Come on!”

In his fantasies, Jaskier had thought up a million things to say to Geralt if he ever saw him again. Demanding forgiveness, or asking for it, or just taking that stupid face in his hands and kissing him, as if he’d ever dare.

This wasn’t the time for any of that. Instead he hurried along down the stairs to outrun the smoke.

Another burst of flame, and the floor gave way. It was a jumbled mix of sensations: the emptiness under his feet, the rush in his stomach as he fell, and then two strong arms around his midriff, twisting him in the air, until he landed on something much too soft to be the ground. The air rushed out of his lungs, and he drew a shaky breath that made his ribs smart.

There was a low, pained groan underneath him. Jaskier scrambled out of the way.

“Geralt! Are you okay?”

Even in the small, dark area, surrounded by smoke, it was very clear that the answer was no. Geralt’s eyes were open, reflecting the dim light, but he lay very still, blood staining his mouth.

Cursing, heart racing, Jaskier climbed out of the remains of the stairs and fumbled around until he found the back door.

“Help!” he cried out into the street. “Somebody help us!”

Nobody came. Too many similar cries rang out all around him.

Daylight made it easier to see, and the fresh air had cleared the smoke somewhat, but also fed the flames, which were coming closer.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck… Geralt, can you move at all?”

Geralt made a weak attempt to raise himself on his elbows, but fell back down. “Hurts,” he gasped.

Well, that was a perfectly terrifying admission. Jaskier nodded several times, to summon a certainty he did not feel, and grabbed a hold of those bulky shoulders to haul Geralt out into the street.

As he was dragged across the rubble, Geralt screamed, a drawn-out, agonized, bubbling sound that no living creature had any business making, least of all him. He was supposed to be the mighty Witcher, who handled pain with no more than a grunt.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, his eyes stinging from more than the smoke. How could any man, even a mutated one, be so heavy? “I’m sorry. I have to.”

He managed to get Geralt out of the burning building and kicked the door shut behind them, before he collapsed into coughs. They were probably still too close for safety, but at least they weren’t about to choke to death within the next few minutes.

What could he do now? Bind the wounds? What _were_ the wounds, exactly? Geralt was still wearing his jacket. Was it better to take that off? Jaskier undid the belt and started moving the leather aside, but halted at the sight beneath.

“Uh, Geralt?” All things considered, his voice wasn’t as shaky as it could be. “There seems to be a rather substantial bit of wood sticking out of you. Should I…?”

“Leave it,” Geralt gritted out. “Stops the bleeding.”

“Right. Yes. See, I’m rather at a loss of what to do.”

Geralt’s hand found his, the grip still strong. “I’m sorry. The things I said… I shouldn’t have.”

“You’re sorry? You just saved my life! Again. And I got you in trouble, like I always do.”

“No.” Geralt’s pupils were dilated despite the light, but his gaze was clear and steady. “You saw things… in me… no one else did. I’ve missed you.”

Jaskier’s vision got blurry. “Shit, don’t say things like that. Makes me think you’re dying. And you’re not, all right? You’re going to be fine. I just need to get you some help.”

His attempt to stand up was halted by Geralt’s grip around his hand.

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t. I promise. I’ll just...”

“Don’t ever...leave me… again.”

Jaskier sank back down on his knees. “I won’t. ‘Course not. I love you.” Those were definitely not words that he’d intended to come out of his mouth, ever. He rubbed his free, shivering hand against his eyes to clear the tears. “Now I’m the one talking like you’re dying. But, well, it’s true. I expect you always knew that, didn’t you? Probably pretty blinking obvious.”

There was no response. Geralt’s eyes were drifting close.

“Geralt?” Jaskier swallowed hard. “Stay with me, now. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Ciri,” Geralt said. His eyes flew open.

“Ciri?”

And then someone else was calling Geralt’s name, a light female voice that belonged to the blonde young girl who came running down the street.

“Oh, gods, Geralt!” she said, kneeling in the dirt. “What happened?”

“Floor went out,” Jaskier said, sizing up this stranger. Far too young to be a girlfriend, yet with a clear sense of familiarity between the two of them. “He saved me.”

“Is Yennefer back? Should I go get her?”

“Yennefer?” The brief surge of jealousy at the name gave way to hope and relief. “Yennefer’s here? Yes, go get her! Where did you last see her?”

“About three miles that way.” The girl’s face settled in resolve. “I’ll take Roach. You’ll stay with him, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

She kissed Geralt on the forehead, a simple, natural gesture, and then got back up on her feet and rushed off to the stable. Before long, she was on her way, hair fluttering behind her.

“Three miles isn’t far on horseback,” Jaskier mused. “Say a quarter of an hour with the crowd, then finding Yennefer and returning here… can you hang in there until she’s back?”

A wry smirk appeared on Geralt’s bloody lips. “Dealt with… worse.”

“I know you have. Been there for some of it. Who is she, anyway?”

“Ciri.”

“Got that part. Elaborate?”

“Child… surprise.”

“You don’t say.” Even though the girl was gone already, he looked up in the direction she’d ridden off. “You found her.”

“Found me.”

“How did that happen, then?”

No response.

“Don’t drift off on me, Geralt, come on now. Hey. If you don’t talk to me, I’ll sing to you.”

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered quietly.

“What was that? Oh, I can’t hear you. Gonna have to sing. Let’s see… A girl named Ciri, and a man… known for his bravery… Now here’s the query… how did they meet?”

Jaskier paused and brushed a white lock away from Geralt’s sweaty face. There was only a glimmer of yellow visible under the eyelids now, and the grip around his hand was weakening. He squeezed the cold fingers, trying to hold onto the man’s soul through physical contact.

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you,” he said softly. “Not after I’ve just found you again. And you didn’t even reply to my big revelation. Bastard.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. He fell silent, listening to Geralt’s laboured breaths, louder to his ears than all the clamour in the street.

* * *

The breaths were still there, each one accompanied by a silent but fervent prayer from Jaskier’s lips, when there was a small popping sound next to him on the street, and a large portal appeared. People who had been paying fuck-all attention before screamed and scurried even faster out of the way.

Yennefer stumbled out of the portal, followed by Ciri, who was still mounted on Roach.

The sorceress’ hair was tangled, her dress streaked with soot and blood, but the look in her violet eyes was as fierce as ever before. She sat down next to Geralt and placed her hands on his chest, muttering in the Elder language.

“Never been happier to see you,” Jaskier said.

“Jaskier,” she acknowledged without looking up, then continued her work. Her frown deepened. “Fuck.”

Ciri got off the horse and leaned down, radiating anxiety. “Can you help him?”

“I _am_ helping him. But this isn’t the place for it.” She looked up at the inn, which was still smouldering, and shook her head. With her left hand, she plucked a hair from her head and spun it into a thin gold chain, which she handed to Ciri. “Take Roach, see if you can find an inn further into town. I don’t ask much of a room, but four walls and a ceiling would be nice. Once you find one, break the chain. Wait! Hand me his saddle bag.”

Ciri did as told, and then was off again. Yennefer rummaged about in the saddle bag until she found the right potion bottle, and undid the stopper.

“Hold his head up,” she ordered Jaskier. “Not too high. Geralt, I need you to drink.”

When she got no answer, she pushed her hand against his chest again. “Geralt! Drink!”

Geralt licked his lips and breathed in the scent. “Shouldn’t. Not when I’m down.”

“You should and you will. It’s a risk, I’ll grant you, but it’s a worse risk not to. Now, be a good boy and take your medicine.”

He drank the potion, and the colour faded from his face, eyes darkening into a black that spread across his cheeks. Even though Jaskier had seen the effect before, it was still alarming, particularly in a man lying on the ground, rather than ready to go into a fight. Like he was a ghost just about to leave the body.

“What’s in that stuff anyway?”

“Devil’s snare, white hellebore, hawthorn, spurge - some other things as well. I don’t know the exact formula.”

“So poison.”

“Yes, but he’s used to it. Lets him have more control over his organs.” Yennefer sat back and drew a deep sigh. “That buys us some time, if the shock isn’t too much for his body. Give him your jacket.”

Jaskier took off his jacket, and a twang reminded him of the sad remains of his lute. Well, as losses went, that was one he could stand. He spread the jacket over Geralt’s chest, wondering if it would make much of a difference where the leather couldn’t.

“I still need more,” she mused, “and I haven’t _got_ anything. There’s nothing prepared, and no conduits.”

For a moment, her face was that of a lost, little girl. Then it hardened. She looked around at the street, up into the sky, and then her gaze steadied on an alleyway across the street. Straightening her back, she held out a hand, and waited.

Chitters and squeaks told what was coming before they were visible - a flock of rats, biting and thrashing as if they’d rather be anywhere else, yet running towards Yennefer as fast as their little legs would bear them.

Once they reached her, they climbed up onto Geralt, causing him to stir uneasily. Jaskier drew back as they brushed against him, but didn’t let go.

“What the fuck?”

“I need living creatures,” Yennefer said. Her voice was strained and her face paler than usual. “Vertebrates.”

“But....”

“His back is broken, he’s bleeding internally, and as you’ve noted, I’ve just filled him up with poison. So you can fuck right off with your squeamishness, _I will not let him die_!”

Jaskier closed his mouth against any protest and nodded.

The rats highest up on Geralt’s chest shrivelled up into dry, skeletal creatures, and then fell apart as dust. As more scurried to fill their place, a glittering golden thread fell onto one of them. It was Ciri’s broken chain.

Still muttering Elder words, Yennefer picked it up, and concentrated for a moment. Another portal opened up.

“Help me lift him up,” she ordered. “One, two, and three!”

Even with the rats underfoot, getting Geralt through the portal was so quick and easy that Yennefer must have been using a fair bit of magic to lift him too. They landed in a bedroom at another inn, with a large bed where they lay Geralt down, and where the rats soon climbed up as well.

“Oh, yuck!” Ciri cried out, backing away towards the door.

Yennefer shooed her off. “Out, both of you! I need some peace and quiet in here. This will take a while.”

“But what will you…?”

Another rat disintegrated. Jaskier got up, grabbed Ciri, and gently steered her out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, they were on the third floor of a grander inn than before, where everyone was much too shaken to notice that Jaskier hadn’t entered through the front door. They found their way down to the main room, and the innkeeper didn’t even ask for coin in advance as he handed them two cups of apple cider.

“What were those rats?” Ciri asked, taking a sip of hers as they sat down by a table in the corner.

“I think she’s killing them to help heal him. Seemed that way. I don’t know how these magic things work.” Another thing Yennefer had said resurfaced. “She said his back was broken.”

“But that’s… but then… he can’t… can he?”

Jaskier raised a shoulder helplessly. “He’s a witcher, she’s a mage. Maybe he can. Maybe _she_ can. I’ve seen her do impossible things. Him too. Ordinary rules don’t apply. For all we know, he could be ready to walk out of here tomorrow.”

“Do you really think so?”

He thought about it. As little as he liked Yennefer, there was no doubting her power. And the truth was, he _did_ trust her in this respect. “Maybe not tomorrow,” he admitted. “But someday. Yes. I think she can heal him.”

As if to toast to that idea, he lifted his cup and drank. The apple cider was strong, sweet, and helped to calm his racing heart a little. For the first time since he’d stumbled out onto the street, he felt how badly his ribs ached.

“So…” Ciri said, sounding a little sheepish, “Who are you again?”

That made him laugh. “Sorry. My name’s Jaskier. I’m Geralt’s friend, I suppose. Yes. Friend.”

“Oh. Hello.” She smiled. It was a very sweet smile. “I’m Ciri. I’m his… uh…”

“Child surprise,” he filled in. “Yes. I know.”

The colour rose in her pale cheeks. “It still feels so weird, saying it.”

“How long have you been with him?”

“Only since Sodden. Yennefer joined us a few days later. I’m still a bit afraid of her, truth be told. Him, though - I feel like I’ve known him all my life.” She slowly turned her cup around between her hands. “It’s hard to explain. I never knew my parents, but that’s what I always imagined it would be like. Coming home to a father.”

To some people, the prickly Witcher might not have been a father figure to hope for. Jaskier knew better. His throat tightened. “I’m so glad you found each other.”

“Me too. How about you? How long have you known him?”

“More years than I care to remember. On and off, though.” It hardly seemed fair, remembering how that had ended, now that Geralt was not only at death’s door, but had said the kind of things Jaskier had only ever dreamt of him saying. The memory still stung, though. “Truth be told, I didn’t expect to see him again. We met up quite by accident.”

“People linked by destiny will always find each other,” Ciri said softly.

“Destiny’s a bit too strong a word.”

“Is it? I had stopped looking for him, by the time I found him. He and Yennefer weren’t looking for each other either. And now you. We were meant to be here, all of us. Just in time to save his life.”

She sounded so certain, and Jaskier’s eyes welled up at how wrong she was. “No. No, he saved _me_. He cushioned my fall, took the worst of it on purpose. If I hadn’t been there, he would have made it down the stairs unharmed.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’d have fallen anyway, and there wouldn’t have anyone there to help him out. Open the door, even. He’d have suffocated from the smoke long before I made it back. And even if I had been there in time, what would I have done? Left him alone while I found Yennefer? Tried to lift him up on Roach?”

The mental image that her words projected was too clear, and too univocal. Jaskier licked his lips, and drank some more cider to aid his dry mouth.

“He would have died, Jaskier.” Ciri’s face contorted into grief, and she suddenly looked half her age. “Oh, gods, he could still die. Couldn’t he?”

“No, he won’t.” Jaskier got up and around to sit at Ciri’s side of the table, wrapping his arms around her, and speaking with as much conviction as he could manage: “He’ll be fine. Yennefer will fix him right up. He’s been through so many worse scrapes than this. Did he ever tell you about the time he fought his way out of a selkiemore _after_ it had swallowed him? All covered in guts he was, I had to scrub him off for hours. I wrote a pretty good ballad about the whole thing, though. Come to think of it, that was at about the time we met your mother. And your grandmother.”

“Grandmama said she wouldn’t die, and then she did,” Ciri said, bursting into tears. “And Eist, and Dara, and everybody back home. So many people have died.”

Jaskier rocked the crying girl, silently cursing his own stupidity for bringing up her family, when he _knew_ what had been going down in Cintra.

“The Nilfgaardians killed so many, and now they’re here, and what if they come for us? What if Yennefer can’t stop them, because she’s trying to save Geralt, and he can’t stop them either, and _we_ can’t… I mean, I could scream, but I don’t have much control. What if he dies, what if we all die?”

Jaskier felt his own eyes blur. Damn it, that wasn’t helping. “Hey, no. Yennefer can do those portal things, remember? She’ll bring us somewhere safe.

“She can grow tired too, you know,” Ciri said, looking up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but it didn’t diminish the accusation in her glare. “She’s not invincible.”

“No. I know.” Searching for something to say, he found just the thing. “But you believe destiny brought us together, right? It wouldn’t do that just so we could all die. Would it?”

Ciri pondered that. The sobs stilled a little, though there was still a hitch to her breathing. “We still have things to do.”

“Right. Absolutely.”

“Geralt too.”

“No doubt.”

“And if they come while Yennefer’s asleep, I’ll scream for as long as I can. Hold them off. Okay.” She nodded to herself and drew a shaky breath. “I’m hungry.”

Jaskier gave a small, tear-filled laugh. His lute was smashed, his bag probably a pile of cinders by now, but he still had his purse, although it was nearly empty. “Me too. Let’s see if we can get some food.”

* * *

By nightfall, battles had calmed and the inn was still standing. Rumour claimed that Nilfgaard had sacked the outskirts of town and moved on to greener pastures. Jaskier wasn’t sure he dared to believe that, but he was much too tired to care about war strategy. As long as they were still alive, that was good enough for him.

Their plates and cups were long empty, and Ciri had dozed off with her head against his shoulder. Jaskier was near sleep too, but his eyes refused to close, fixed instead on the staircase - and the moment Yennefer appeared at the top of the stairs, he straightened, instantly alert.

For once, she moved like an old woman, taking the steps one at a time. Her eyes were puffy, and the paint around them smeared. She’d put a ribbon around her hair without first undoing the tangles. But when she met Jaskier’s gaze, she gave him a wide, boyish grin of triumph and relief.

He rose from his seat, which of course made Ciri wake up as well.

“I fucking did it, didn’t I?” Yennefer said, making her way over to them. “Can you believe it? I know I can’t, and I was there.”

“He’s okay?” Ciri asked.

“He’s asleep. And yes, he’ll live. Might even walk. His spine’s knitting together in a way no normal man’s could. Whether that will be enough...” She raised a hand in a sort of shrug. “He’s a freak, and thank the gods for that! Fuck, I’m tired.”

“I’ll get you some food,” Jaskier said, then paused. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have any money on you, would you?”

She scoffed, but handed over her purse, and he went in search of the innkeeper.

When he returned with the food, Ciri had left the table, and only Yennefer was waiting for him.

“I told Ciri she could go upstairs, to sit with Geralt,” she said. “Doubt he’ll notice, but it might make her feel better. And it gives us a chance to talk.”

Her eyes were cold. Well, he deserved that.

“I know I’ve said…” Jaskier broke off. “Things. And I’m sorry. You were magnificent. Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for _you_ ,” she snapped.

“I know. Thank you anyway. You’ve helped him in ways I never could. And I know you love him. If you want… if you want me to leave, I will.”

Yennefer stared at him as she broke off a piece of her bread and ate it. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah. What?”

“You think I’d want to hurt him like that? Especially now? Tomorrow when he wakes up, stuck in bed, in six kinds of pain, I’ll just swan in there and say, by the way, I kicked your best friend out because I was jealous. Isn’t that a brilliant idea?”

“He’d never call me his best friend,” Jaskier protested.

“Doesn’t mean that’s not what you are. Of course,” she smirked, “I sort of figured that’s not what you want to be.”

He looked down and crossed his arms, as if that could protect him from her scrutiny. “Doesn’t matter what I want, does it? It’s not what Geralt wants.”

“I don’t think even Geralt knows what Geralt wants. But you’re in the mix somewhere. Heaven knows why. Probably another stupid sick joke of destiny. Let me make one thing clear. I’m not giving him up for you. But I’m not letting him go _over_ you either.”

That sounded a lot more promising than he had expected, and he looked up. “So…”

She raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Gilbert and Tibert. The thought was ridiculous, but came unbidden, and he found himself speaking of it anyway. “When I was a child, we always had cats. And two of them really hated each other. Couldn’t pass each other on the floor without hissing and spitting. We kept expecting them to fight to the death, or one of them to find a different home, or something. But they never did. They slept in different corners of the house, hunted at different mouse holes, and if one of them got off a lap the other would take the opportunity to jump up there.”

“What are you suggesting - we should _timeshare_ Geralt?”

“I’m suggesting… a truce?”

For a minute, she watched him in silence, eating. Then she smiled. It was a warm, genuine smile, unlike any he’d seen on her. “What the hell. I’m already sharing him with a princess and a horse, might as well throw in a bard. Truce.”

* * *

The room where Geralt lay wasn’t large enough to accommodate all four of them, so they arranged for a second one, along with some extra blankets. Yennefer remained with Geralt, while Ciri got the bed of the second room, and Jaskier curled up by her fireplace. His body protested the hard floor, but he had slept in many places a great deal less comfortable, and soon dozed off.

He woke up from the sun in his eyes and the sharp pain of a foot prodding his bruised chest.

“Wake up. He’s asking for you.”

During the night, his muscles had tensed, and he couldn’t help moaning as he sat up.

Yennefer cocked her head. “Didn’t kick you that hard. Are you all right?”

“Fine. Geralt’s awake?”

“And asking for you.”

That was all Jaskier needed to know. Without bothering to put his shoes on, he crossed the corridor to Geralt’s room, Yennefer in tow.

Even from across the room, the difference in Geralt’s condition was clear. His face was pale as always, but it was his natural pallor, not the ashen complexion of the day before. His breathing was silent, and his eyes bright and clear. He even smiled a little.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered and started to approach the bed, only to be held back by a hand yanking his shirt out of his breeches and exposing the bare skin beneath.

“Hey!” he protested, trying to pull the shirt back down, but Yennefer held steady.

“Fuck, I’ve seen sunsets less colourful than this,” she said. “I’ll get you a salve.”

“I don’t need a salve!”

“Ha! I could sell you to the nearest temple as a stained glass window. Maybe I will. Save me from having to hear your prattling.” But there was no rancour in her smile, and she even winked on her way out.

Geralt gave a snort of laughter, and Jaskier brushed the indignity aside for more pressing matters. He stepped over the blankets on the floor and cautiously sat down on the bedside.

“You look so much better.”

“I thought maybe I’d hallucinated you,” Geralt said. His eyes were fixed on Jaskier, and there was a disturbing lack of annoyance in them.

“What, along with falling from the stairs and almost dying? No such luck, I’m afraid.”

“And the things you said? Were those real?”

“Well now,” Jaskier said. The butterflies in his stomach seemed to spread to his whole body, and he stood up in an attempt to maybe shake them back down again. “That rather depends on what you think I said, doesn’t it? For instance, if I said, let’s fly to my castle in the sky on this magical unicorn, I’m sad to say, that was indeed a hallucination.”

“Jaskier.”

Too soft. Much too soft.

“I said I love you. And maybe I should deny it now, but I won’t. It happens to be the truth.”

A small frown formed on Geralt’s face, giving it a much more familiar expression.

“I don’t…”

“You don’t have to,” Jaskier interrupted. “It’s fine. Friends is fine. Provided we are friends.”

“Shut up,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier shut up.

“I don’t say that,” Geralt continued slowly. “To anyone. Maybe I should. I can’t remember when - it doesn’t matter. Thing is, I do.”

“Do what?”

“Love you.”

Funny how weak knees could get. Jaskier sat back down with a thud that made Geralt hiss in pain. “Do you mean a brotherly sort of love, or…?”

Geralt grabbed the back of Jaskier’s head and yanked him closer with surprising strength, all things considered.

Their mouths met.

There was still a faint taste of blood on Geralt’s lips, along with ale, and morning breath, and something that made Jaskier’s mouth prickle and was probably the remains of that potion.

All right. The man needed to clean his teeth. But all of that was drowned out by the fact that this was _Geralt_ , kissing him, with a fervour and tenderness he’d never even fully imagined.

And then it ended, and Geralt pulled away, looking a bit sheepish.

“Um. I think my head’s still foggy.”

“You just remembered that there’s a very powerful, very passionate sorceress next door who doesn’t like me very much?”

Geralt nodded and started pulling himself up. “I’ll just…” He fell back down, groaning in pain. “Fuck!”

“Don’t move!” Jaskier held up a hand to Geralt’s chest, then hesitated. “Can you, though? Move? Yennefer tried to heal your back, but…”

For a moment, a shadow of fear crossed Geralt’s features. Then his foot jerked under the blanket, and though the action made him wince, he did it again with the other one.

They both exhaled simultaneously.

The sound of quick footsteps made Jaskier spin around and jump off the bed, with a strange mix of shame and defiance.

“Salve,” Yennefer said, pushing the small jar into his chest none too gently before she turned to Geralt. “Saw you stirring there. Mind if I test further?”

Geralt shook his head, and she unfolded the blanket, pinching him on the back of his knee.

“Ow!” He withdrew his leg, then grimaced again at the movement. “What the hell, Yen?”

“Works all right,” she said and rummaged about so she could try the other side. That only got her a small twitch, and her lips tightened. She went down to the end of the bed and tickled the bottom of his feet. The toes on the left foot curled. The right did not.

Jaskier’s heart started pounding in his chest. Geralt, who had been watching keenly, bit his lip.

“Curl your toes for me, Geralt,” Yennefer said. Her voice was neutral.

Slowly, his toes curled.

“Okay, good,” Yennefer said. She folded back the blanket and patted it down a little. “Reflexes are a bit off on that side, but altogether, I think it’s not too shoddy. Or what do you say, bard?”

“I think it’s marvellous,” Jaskier said warmly.

“Now, there’s a miracle if any, kind words from the pup!” She rose from her position and went up to stroke Geralt’s hair. “I’d still like to take you to the temple of Melitele, just to make sure. Healing’s not my speciality, and I don’t trust the Nilfgaardians not to return and fuck more shit up either.”

He nodded. “When do you want to go?”

“In a few days, when I’ve got the energy. I’m all exhausted now. Afraid I’ll have to leave you to simmer for a while. Should be all right, as long as you don’t do anything stupid like try to get out of bed.”

“Hm. Yen…” He took her hand. “I love you.”

Her face softened, and then she threw a quick glance over at Jaskier, who had crossed his arms without thinking. “Is that your way of buttering me up so I’ll let you keep him around?”

“No. It’s true.”

“Well, I love you too.” She kissed his forehead, and then his lips, deepening the kiss when Geralt returned it.

They had been a lot more frisky than that, many times. In full view, even. There was no reason at all for Jaskier to squirm. Yet he did.

Yennefer broke off the kiss, and glanced up at him. “Tit for tat, bard.”

His jaw dropped. “You… you _watched_ us?”

“No. Lucky guess. I hope you don’t play cards, you haven’t the face for it.”

“He does,” Geralt said.

“Gods. No wonder he’s broke. Don’t worry, we’ve talked it out, you can keep him. It’s not like I’m a master of chastity either. Although, I must say, I have much better taste.”

“No doubt,” Geralt agreed with a tiny smile.

She kissed him again, then got off the bed and headed for the door. “Five more minutes in the lap, bard, then I’m waking Ciri. She’s been worried too.”

“Lap?” Geralt mumbled.

“Long story,” Jaskier said. “Rather not spend those five minutes explaining.”

“Hm. Maybe some other day. You could write me a song about it.”

“Oh, shit, have you got a concussion Yennefer didn’t catch? Don’t scare me like this, just tell me to piss off like you always do, so I know you’re alright.”

Geralt’s lips curled. “Fuck off, Jaskier.”

“There you go,” Jaskier said. He sat back down and ran a finger over that smile, which widened in reward. “Much better.”


	3. Chapter 3

**EPILOGUE**

The stone floor of the portico was smooth and polished. Geralt proceeded with caution, as he let go of Yennefer’s arm, leaning only on the cane as he made his way across.

The other three watched him with critical eyes, heads to the side.

“Not bad,” said Ciri. “A month with the cane, is that what Mother Nenneke said?”

Geralt only sighed, but Yennefer answered, “She did, but I think it will be less, between Witcher healing and sheer pigheadedness.”

“Still dragging the right foot a little there,” Jaskier pointed out.

“Thanks, I know,” Geralt growled. “I feel like an old man.”

“You _are_ an old man.” Jaskier grinned at the glare that earned him. “What? We may look the same age, these days, but I’ve done the math. You have to be at least…”

“Jaskier!”

“So vain,” Ciri teased. “Are you the oldest of us, or is that Yennefer?”

“No comment,” said Yennefer with a smile. “Turn around for me, Witcher, let’s see your balance.”

Geralt did as told. “Will you ask me to dance next?”

“Not quite yet. I’m not ruling it out for your future convalescence.”

He stepped closer. “And everything else? How long will I have to wait?”

“No Witcher duties in a while, I’m afraid. Go out too soon, and you’ll just get eaten by some Leviathan and undo all of my hard work.”

“That wasn’t the duties I was thinking of.”

The leer was so obvious even Ciri caught its meaning.

“Gross!” she complained.

Yennefer raised her eyebrows and watched Geralt for a moment, before her hand shot out and grabbed the front of his breeches. He gave a startled grunt, but remained very, very still.

“Double gross!” shrieked Ciri. She threw her hands over her eyes and ran inside, only peeking enough between her fingers to see where she was going.

Jaskier pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Looks ready to me.”

“More than ready,” Geralt gritted out.

Yennefer let go.

“Nah,” she said. “Let’s give it a few more days, maybe a week. We don’t want to overexert you.”

“Yen!”

But she only kissed him on the cheek and strode inside after Ciri, chuckling to herself.

“Harsh luck, mate,” Jaskier said with mock sympathy.

“Jaskier…”

The pleading tone was enough to send a tingle through Jaskier’s own body, but he still shook his head.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. I wouldn’t dare to go against doctor’s orders. Of course…” He closed the distance between them and put a hand against that bottom, still so well-formed after weeks of inactivity. At this distance, he could feel Geralt’s hardness through their clothes. “If you were to go inside and lay down, not exerting yourself in the slightest, perhaps I could be persuaded to, for instance, give you a helping hand.”

“Yes,” Geralt breathed.

“Yes? Very good!” He drew back and gave Geralt a slight tap on the shoulder, before running off inside. “Race you!”

“Jaskier!”

Ah, yes, there was that old annoyance, finally back in full force.

Jaskier laughed.


End file.
